


I Have A Mouth (And We Must Scream)

by KryOnBlock



Category: Dream SMP Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Body Horror, Butcher's Army, Dec 16 re-telling, Execution, Gen, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, also the character undeath only applies to one person bc someone else also dies, bc tommy, but dw respawn exist, everyone after tommy is mentioned only, major character death becomes undeath bc totem but yknow, not beta read we die like phil is foreshadowed to do, posession, references to mental health problems, somewhat graphic descriptions of violence and gore, technochat au, technochat possesion au, unwilling posession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28232583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KryOnBlock/pseuds/KryOnBlock
Summary: He yelped, wings instantly flaring out to help maintain his balance as he stumbled back and fell, hands covering his ears, looking up at the Execution Podium. A shower of gold and emerald sparkles emitted from the cage, the lights so bright it left an aftermath whenever he blinked. The hand, covered in blood and squished viscera, twitched.And then, ris e s  u p.---------------December 16th but with a twist.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 71
Kudos: 751





	I Have A Mouth (And We Must Scream)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pointvee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pointvee/gifts), [Inco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inco/gifts), [gildedSentinel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedSentinel/gifts), [Feliadox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feliadox/gifts), [HelloDarknessMyOldFriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloDarknessMyOldFriend/gifts).



> Title is a reference to "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream" a very good post apocalyptic sci-fi short story. 
> 
> This one-shot is a gift to all the peeps to the Lavender Tea discord, yall keep making so good au's and i just had to write something about it. Yall are amazing, ily
> 
> Short summary of the au: Techno's chat can posses techno's body and move it when Techno's not there. I think you can guess what happens when Techno dies (or almost does) ;)
> 
> Content Warning for: Gore, hints at depression bc Tommy sincerely does Not Have A Good Time (tm), violence and somewhat small body horror

Technoblade stood tall in the cage he was trapped in.

It made Quackity rage, the fact that this scum of a player could still stand proud and not cower in face of his imminent execution. The fucker didn’t even care to look at him nor any of the others, instead looking ahead and just completely ignoring them, going as far as to lean to the side and talk to the ghost of Wilbur. Occasionally the bitch would just talk aloud, uncaring of everyone ignoring him, talking to the air. 

If that didn’t consolidate that this man was a danger to New L’manberg existence itself and a crazy person too, Quackity doubted what else would confirm it.

It made Quackity so furious, but it didn’t matter when the pig was about to be killed anyways. Oh, how Quackity yearned for it, to see the blue eyes of the pig cower in fear as he bled out from the anvil squishing him, Quackity finally, finally on top of him. The simple idea of making him bleed made shudders go down his spine, a smile widening as he felt the ghostly weight of a familiar pair of hands on his shoulders.

No more would he cower, no more would he fear this fucker. Today, Quackity will get his revenge and manage to kill the unkillable Technoblade, today Quackity will _feast_ on God’s blood and nobody will stop him. No more will he live under the shadow of this man, past haunting his every step and the sound of netherite armour ghosting his shadows, no more will Quackity freeze in terror, trapped in his own head as he powers through so vivid memories of what once happened.

No, no more. Today? Today Quackity will kill his monster under the bed and become one itself.

Of course, that’s the moment when Punz falls in the middle of them, the blonde laughing at the spluttering of the cabinet and quickly trying to stab Ranboo, who shouted in alarm and ended up teleporting a few feet away. Fundy and Quackity soon ran after him, but Punz eluded them easily, twisting and weaving in between the seats of the platform, a wild grin on his face as TNT was summoned from his inventory and he started placing it all over.

They all screamed, the cabinet running now more desperately around Punz, breaking as fast as they could the blocks, as Philza laughed from the balcony of his house at their obvious panic.

It was clear that Punz was here to try and save Technoblade, so sneering, Quackity turned in the middle of the chase, going back to the execution post. He heard Fundy yell as Punz started going after him, Phil shouting and Technoblade growling while obviously trying to get out of the cage, but it all blended in background noise for Quackity, as the duck hybrid ran as fast as he could, weaving between the swipes of the netherite sword behind him.

The sound of the lever being flickered sounded so much like victory, and Quackity laughed, an hysterical and almost maniacal sound as the redstone activated and the anvil started falling down, uncaring of the protest of Ranboo, of Punz now escaping, of Phil scream, of Technoblade’s shouts as this wasn’t justice. The anvil fell and fell and fell, uncaring of anyone’s emotions. He managed to catch a glimpse of something golden on Technoblade before the metal finally met its destination.

It landed with quite a heavy sound, both grossly squishy, cracking and muted, as the metal tore through the flesh and met the ground. Quackity had barely a second of glee, to appreciate the blood now seeping into the spruce planks underneath and the limp hand hanging through the bars of the cage before an earth-shattering sound happened.

He yelped, wings instantly flaring out to help maintain his balance as he stumbled back and fell, hands covering his ears, looking up at the Execution Podium. A shower of gold and emerald sparkles emitted from the cage, the lights so bright it left an aftermath whenever he blinked. The hand, covered in blood and squished viscera, twitched.

_And then, ris e s u p._

Quackity couldn’t move, paralized on the floor, as he watched the hand slope push itself up, a torn up body following after, the pink skin growing quickly over the missing parts, like a very gross pale imitation of an overpowered regeneration potion, only it was _rushed_ , the skin growing back barely in the span of a second.

Something freezing and heavy coiled underneath his chest, clawing into his now rabbit beating heart, as he stared at what was once a body, heaving itself up. The head lolled to the side, at such an unnatural angle it was impossible to not know it had a broken neck. Blue unseeing eyes stared straight into his, boring into his person, as blood flowed from the barely healed crack of the head where the anvil had met it.

Nobody of the gabinet could move, frozen on the spruce planks underneath them, as the body rose and rose and rose up, until it stood in two legs, semi-hunched. He could see the mouth of the monster moving, a vague and muted sound rising and rising in volume, babbling in what Quackity was sure wasn’t Technoblade’s voice.

“ _Blood, blood, kill them! Kill~ Kill, can’t die, where, where, come, home, him!, KILL HIM, KILL KILL KILL”_ Came the voices, because it was voices Quackity noted with muted horror, talking through the corpse body.

The monster tore the cage open, barely jumping over the iron bars, the body moving in multiple directions, as if it were being tugged to move, invisible hands pupperetering the Blood God’s body. It was surprisingly fast, as it quickly disappeared running away.

Quackity is vaguely aware he can hear Fundy whimpering behind him, but he is stuck here, still trying to process what the actual fuck happened, when laughter rings out across the podium, startling the whole cabinet, as if instead of a joyful sound it was a crackling belt slashing through the air.

Philza was laughing, tears in his eyes, as he used one hand against the wall to stand up, wings dropped and hanging limply on the floor, as he laughed and laughed, an hysterical note ringing out in the silence and making Ranboo just cringe back, clearly uncomfortable.

“You fools” Philza laughs, uncaring of the blood still dripping off the podium that is now staining Tubbo’s dress shoes. “Did you really believe he would die? You are such clowns!”  
  


“Philza Minecraft you are under house arrest stop laughing!” Tubbo screeches out, stumbling back from the blood, looking so pale Quackity was half sure the kid was ready to pass out in any moment now. “Stop laughing, I said!”

Quackity can barely register what Tubbo and Phil are screaming now at each other, the blond and brunette tearing into each other with sharp jabs. He would normally pay attention, but his gaze is fixated on the blood staining the black metal of the anvil, small parts of viscera and pink fur scattered against it in gross splatters. He stares and stares at the blood, red like anyone’s else, that's just drips and drips and drips.

Without thinking, Quackity stands up and grabs his axe, which was on the floor the same as him, having let it go when he had stumbled into the ground. The blade is sharp and glints against the sun, as Quackity just sprints towards he last saw Technoblade runs away, ignoring how every one of his instincts are screaming at him to _run away, run away, not safe! Abomination, danger!_

If Gods bleed then they are as mortal as anyone else, he thinks past the rising hysteria on his throat, that threatens to bubble up and swallow him whole.

He comes to a stop as he stares ahead at a semi-hidden tunnel, the rocks are sharp and low, and the whole ground is splattered with blood, and he stares ahead at the open maw of the darkness, hands gripping hard the axe on his hands, as if wishing it could bring any comfort.

A blur of green passes by him when he enters, shoulder checking him, and Quackity doesn’t need to look back to know it was the Admin of the server, Dream, who just passed by.

_(If he had looked back he would have seen how Dream staggered out, one hand gripping his bleeding shoulder as his mask sported a new crack that ran from top to bottom. If he had looked back, he would have seen the Admin seriously shaken from_ **_something_ ** _, would have seen what true terror looks like in the eyes of God, if he had looked back… If only he had looked back)_

Quackity enters with his axe raised and stops just at the entrance of a small room, blackstone from wall to wall, cracked and covered with dust in clear passage of time. There are some chest littered around, almost faded words telling the names of each original founder of L’manberg. But Quackity’s vision is fixated on the figure hunched in the middle of the room, bloodied pickaxe hanging loosely from one hand.

The mutter of voices is louder here, probably resonating in the small chamber, and Quackity tries to not feel as if he signed his death when he freezes and listens to the voices that now come out of the monster’s body.

“ _Kill, Kill, Go home, lead, lead, carl good?, carl, PHIL, CARL!!, not here, go back, he’s gone, PHIL, kill, go away, home, Sn ow, Kill, blood, blood for the blood god, blood for the blood god, bLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD”_ The duck hybrid flinches as the chant grows louder and louder, the corpse’s hands twitching in uncontrolled movements as it chants, blood still seeping from the wounds whatever cursed magic it had used to survive didn’t manage to cure.

He takes a step back, wondering if he maybe should go back, but his netherite armour makes a clicking noise, the sound resonating like a gunshot in the room.The voices go quiet in an instant, and Quackity doesn’t have to look back to know his wings are spreaded out and puffed out, raised as if trying to make himself look bigger.

The body turns around, the head turning first in such an unnatural angle before the body remembers to follow it, the movement so unnatural it fills his veins with ice. The body now sports iron armour, the almost silver metal stained with blood and looked clearly bad put on, as if the wearer had forgotten how to put armor on (As if more than one people were trying to control the body).

The mouth keeps moving, the sounds clumsy and almost stuttering, as if unused to having a fucking mouth to use, as if it wasn’t the owner of the body. It is chilling, no, scratch that, it is _terrifying_ in a way he can’t almost describe. It’s downright unnatural, stuff he would have never thought it could happen. Simply being in the same room as that thing feels **_wrong_ **, and Quackity just grips the axe harder, trying to will himself not to shake in front of the obvious monster ahead of him.

_“Qua-Ki-ty”_ The voices call as if it were a fucked up radio, the sound intermittent and almost stuttering in a somewhat robotic way, not a single inflection of emotion in the monster’s voice. “ _Quack-ity!”_

He flinches back, _hard_ , when it says his name, the sound raising all of his hair, goosebumps overtaking him. 

_“Kill-ed us! Bad, blood, bad, Quack-ity, ba d, blood, kill, retirement, why, peaceful, bad, left, why, why_ **_W h Y?!_ ** _”_

“You-You don’t understand!” Quackity takes a step back when the monster in front of him tries to take one forward. “Technoblade is a danger to New L’manburg, I’m trying to build something here!”

_“N-Noo, bad, retirement, justice?, trial, trial, trial, bLood, blood, Kill”_

“Shut up!” Quackity yells, the voices making something inside of him die each time it speaks, so unnatural, so wrong, it feels against nature the simple fact it is speaking. “You don’t understand, I don’t care, I don’t care! Shut up!”

_“An-Anarchyy, Carl, Kill, bad, Quack-ity, Quack-ity, blood, kill, blood, anarchy, kill, gov-goverment bad, kill him, kill him, bad, Q_ _uacki-kity”_

“I don’t give a fuck!” Quackity raises his axe, hoping the shaking isn’t as bad “You are supposed to die and _will_ fucking die no matter what”

The creature- No, the monster laughs. It laughs and laughs, awkward and stuttering, the noise echoing in the dark room as it stands straight up, the movements sharp and jerky, as if it were being tugged into position. It raises the bloodied pickaxe, the sound of the remaining glass bottles clinking against each other in the blood-covered belt.

_“You t-think, can, kill, us, no, No, no, No, No, Kill, You”_ The voices croon, blue unseeing eyes staring straight into him, uncaring of the blood that seeps into it. The whole body jerks, as if electrocuted, and a new voice comes forward, alone, with an accent distinguishable different from Techno’s and clearly not belonging _“You think you can take us?”_

Quackity should talk, should say something, but his voice gets stuck on his throat, and no matter what he cannot say anything so he nods sharply, knuckles practically white from how tight the hands are gripping the axe handle.

_“We have a pickaxe”_ The voice crows, as the body moves forward “ _And we’ll put it through your teeth”_

The rest of the voices start up, rising more and more in volume, chanting “ _Blood for the Blood God, Blood for the Blood God!”_ until the room is filled with the screams.

Quackity can only manage to stare at the abomination above him before something sharp and wicked comes straight through his eye, the last thing he sees a blood-stained smile above him.

  
  
  
  
  


**_Quackity was slain by Technoblade_ **

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Tommy is lounging in the drent, on top of the bed he stole when something clatters bove him.

He pauses, golden apple he had been throwing between his hands staying on the right still, as he looks at the mix-match of yellow concrete and stone that his roof is made of. For a terrifying second he thinks it's Dream, who has found him and came looking for him, worried about his friend, and he starts to get up, heart beating so fast he fears he may get a heart attack before logic kicks in. Dream isn’t his friend, he reminds himself sternly, and then looks up, worried as if only thinking about him is enough to summon him.

The sounds are muted, probably because he _is_ under the basement of the house, but he manages to hear netherite armour and a chorus of distant voices. The voices sound distinctly not Dream, so he relaxes a little, despite the fact that the voices raise the hair on the back of his neck. Who is upstairs?

He doubts it could be Techno, especially since there are a lot of voices and the pig is so anti-social Tommy is sure he would rather die than have a conversation with more than a group of 5 in his house.

_Our house_ , he corrects before frowning, _No wait,_ **_my_ ** _house. Yeah that’s better._

Nobody goes downstairs, so very slowly, Tommy tries to relax, despite the fact that he feels as if something is watching him. It’s probably his paranoia, he thinks, so he instead bites into the golden apple in his hand and pulls the covers over him, the chill of the tundra seeping into the drent.

He probably shouldn’t be in bed with the armour on, the metal pieces chafing against his ratty clothes, but the mere thought of taking it off is enough to make him want to retch, so he just covers himself whole with the cover and tries to ignore how uncomfortable it is. He stays there for a long while, not doing anything besides burrowing under the thin blanket and biting absently into the apples in his hand. 

He should get out of bed actually, but he feels so tired and the thought of someone being in the house should alarm him, but the simple fact it isn’t Dream is enough to make him apathetic. If they discover him, he will figure something out, but he doesn’t plan on moving until then. It also feels as if he can’t move, like if his chest was covered in stones, the weight so heavy he thinks he can barely breathe.

The experience is similar, having experienced it a lot in Logstedshire, so he knows the best he can do is just stay on the bed until Ghostbur comes in and forces him to get up. But there is no Ghostbur here, so Tommy just stays and stays there, in the cold and almost wet room, the place getting colder and colder as the time passes by, yet Tommy is not making a single movement to get out.

The sounds upstairs stop somewhere between him eating the thirty-fifth apple, so Tommy gives himself until the sixty to stay on the bed, knowing he should get more golden apples in case something were to happen. He doesn’t want to get caught off guard, and he thinks it’s late enough he doesn’t have to worry about whoever is upstairs in the house. It’s probably Techno anyways, and the pig sleeps super heavy whenever he comes back from long trips, he has learned in the two weeks he has been staying here.

The guy disappears for days, the record so far being five days, coming back and just sleeping the entire day away, uncaring of the exterior world. He had catched a single glimpse of him that time, the face so relaxed and different from how it usually looked when he was awake. He had looked so vulnerable, it had left a bitter taste on Tommy’s mouth and he had scurried rather hurriedly back into the drent that time, taking a bit more than usual in some weird petty revenge that his brother felt safe in his own house, when Tommy hasn’t felt safe in _years_.

He shakes his head, trying to shove away those horrible thoughts, breathing deeply to try and clear his mind. It’s fine, he tells himself, but if he stays a few more hours in bed than he was supposed to? Well, the only witness is the golden bell on the corner of the room, and he thinks his made-up God won’t judge him for it.

Finally, when he knows he cannot wait any longer, Tommy slowly gets up from the bed, ignoring how cold and numb his hands feel as he starts climbing carefully the stairs and moves away the stone slab covering the entrance to his room. There is no one in the room when he peers and gets up slowly, petting softly the cow tied at the corner. The animal moos softly and nudges his hand, a small smile widening as he enjoys the soft fur for a short moment, enjoy this small peace before sighing and going towards the other ladder, giving the finger to the skeleton with a pumpkin head on who just rattles ominous each time he gets close, one day he will kill that fucker, mark his words.

Upstairs is silent, only the intermittent groans of the zombie villagers interrupting the silence, and Tommy peers into the chests, scowling when he doesn’t find a lot of materials. He probably already stole everything he could from here, and curses past-Tommy, before sighing and deciding to climb up the ladder. There are a few dark and sticky spots on the floor and ladder, but Tommy tries to ignore it, telling himself it is nothing.

However, when he gets to the upper floor, Tommy barely manages to get up before he flinches back and curses, rather loudly, as he stares at the body slumped against the chests. He ignores how his heartbeat picks up speed, as he stares blatantly at the slumped figure of his brother, iron armour stained with blood and a stained pickaxe with small parts of viscera hanging from it. The stench of blood is almost overpowering and Tommy gags a little, a hand against the wall to try and support himself against the nausea that overpowers him.

He starts to take a step forward, he doesn’t know if to check if his brother (who always seemed larger than life, who is invincible, who never loses) is dead, or to steal the armour, or the content of the chests behind and go back to his drent. He doesn’t know what he was going to do, he only knows he takes a step forward and the body in front of him jerks up, as if shocked with electricity.

The head comes up, with a sharp jerk it makes Tommy’s neck hurt from only looking at the action, and Tommy stares in bone-deep horror at the unseeing eyes of his brother. The mouth opens and it just makes everything worse, the echoing and stuttering voices of something clearly _not his brother_ talking.

_“Tommy, kill him, brother no?, safe, protect, he’s gone, HE'S GONE!, phil, where?, back, home, not safe, hurts, bad, he’s not here, help, Tommy, blood for the blood god, why?, Dream bad, kill him we kill, no”_

Tommy can only stare at the body of his brother, and does what anyone would do.

**_“WHAT THE FUCK!?!?”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> A small aclaration: When the anvil fell, it actually killed techno. So his consciousness just straight up disappears for a while, so chat's stays in charge of the body lols. Eventually techno comes back to the body but i rlly wanted to write this scene bc it was commented on the headcannon-2 channel and the mental image made me go ham. It's a small one-shot but i rlly wanted to write this scene :}
> 
> As always my tumblr is @villruu and my twt @vrillru, i sometimes talk about my fics lol
> 
> Also, AO3 statistics show that only a small percentage of you leave kudos, comments and bookmarks, so if you could do them, i would appreciate it a lot. It really helps the story out, and you can always eliminate them later. And if you like my stuff, i have written some more fics you can check out if u want :]


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